The Mothers Heart - Parallelism in Prose - Essay Example

Mrs. Brown felt so good when he came downstairs, too, wearing a cheap yet very neat suit and enjoying his meal before he went to work. She was proud of her son and wanted to give him all care and love she could.

On that fine and sunny morning, they were sitting at the table and watching some news programs on TV. The war began, they said; the enemy attacked and killed many civilians, they said. Some politicians with grave faces announced a draft for military service for men under 40. The mother’s heart died within her – such terrible news on such a nice day!
“Have a good day, mom!” Jesse took his bag, kissed her on the cheek, and flew out of the house.
The mother feared that her child would be drafted into the army: he was courageous, tall, and strong. At the age of 25, he was a complete personality and a person, who had achieved much on his own. She was so proud of him.

* * *
The son feared to let his dear mother alone, but he longed to protect his homeland and was very decisive about it. He was courageous, tall, and strong; moreover, he knew a little about battle tactics and weapons. So he came back home after finishing work and told his mother about his intentions.
Mrs. Brown cried throughout the night, but she didn’t want to let him to risk his life: he could be so useful here, in the rear. However, the mother’s heart had to embrace Jesse’s decision.

* * *
Days went by; sunny and warm autumn days turned into gray and rainy ones, and the mother still lived alone: the house seemed too big, too cold, and too empty without Jesse and every single day was filled with pain waiting for a letter written in familiar loose handwriting. Jesse would write every week, and Mrs. Stillman, the mail clerk, would bring the letters very promptly.

On a foggy December day, the mother went downstairs to prepare her usual breakfast – a toast and a cup of coffee – and turned the TV on. After Jesse went to defend their homeland in the eastern part of the country, she had been turning the news program every morning to be aware of the situation, and her heart would be in her mouth as the commentator read the list of dead soldiers. Yet, these programs were filled with patriotism and hope: the brave sons of the country would surely return to their families. Mrs. Brown finished her toast and looked at the clock.

“Ah, it’s 9 a.m., Mrs. Stillman is bringing the letter in a few minutes,” the mother's heart sang with the delight of anticipation.
But… There was no letter for her, just some bills and a morning paper. Maybe, Jesse had no time to write a letter, she thought trying to suppress the spark of dismay. But there was no letter the next week, too. And a week later. Neighbors and Mrs. Stillman sympathetically looked at her as she passed the lawn every Thursday at 9 o’clock, expecting to receive a letter. As more than a month passed, they were sure that Jesse was dead, though the mother didn’t want to believe it and kept waiting. The mother’s heart lived in hope.

The morning was chilly and sunny, unusually sunny for the end of February. Mrs. Brown woke up, made her toilet and a usual tight bun on her hair (that had become grayer for the last two months), and went downstairs to do her washing. Ironing linen in the kitchen to the monotonous sound of the TV, the mother tried to distract herself from bitter thoughts about Jesse. Suddenly, some strange patter in the window interrupted the mumbling of the commentator. Mrs. Brown rushed to the window reluctant to open it (it was cold) and yet did that as she wanted to see the source of the noise.

As she opened the window, a small grey bird flew into the room and perched on the windowsill with a small tender branch of fresh green leaves.
“What a miracle!” thought the mother. “This must be a sign of good news.”
The door opened and there stood Jesse. He looked extremely exhausted and a little bit older, but he was alive. The mother rushed to him wrapping her arms around him, and tears quivered in her eyes of both. She understood that the bird was a gift for her hope and sensibility of the mother’s heart. Read More